the hunt   1. predator the famished coyote circles my house asleep i stir puzzled by haunting dreams coyote follows my footprints on snow to her doorstep my doorstep to her this thin january his heart howls a song on a melting snow drift. the blue eyes of his own trickery led him astray the hunt fails cold jaw hollow teeth snapped on resilient bone i stir, rest my hand on her chest. our heartbeats still mime. 2. winter the winter is long the hunt an old habit the winter will return the hunt is never done the scent of blood suspended in the air magnetic pull and push of…

    inevitable step     young tiko’s dreams scatter to pieces, hang from the baobab tree,   a boom of a thousand drums in the imagined luanda’s stadium where tiko’s feet, swift as birds, chased a soccer ball of rags   gravel, grass and cloth burrow in tiko’s stump   in the boot of europe, a church-going father designs devices in explosive greens and sands, calls them butterflies, toys gliding to the ground in the thousands. his sister quit valsella last month and greets him with a banner at the end of the day   home at night, in the undermining silence, missing another goodnight kiss, the father clings…

a foot in two worlds     on south terraced slopes vineyards rose in awnings of foliage feet lifted me up ten-foot ladders through green nearer the divine fingers easily pinched the dangling blue thirsty skin touched every soft fruit of the earth but not tin or plastic heels digging into grapes it was love stomping through the eve in granite vats tannin tingling skin before bed before blowing out the candle the blood of christ on my lips then hers   ©1998paulodacosta